


T.I.T.A.N.

by LadyVegeets



Category: Dragon Ball, Titanic (1997)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Space Opera, Titanic - Freeform, Vegebul, smutfest, space, tpth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVegeets/pseuds/LadyVegeets
Summary: Vegeta is about to collide with destiny as he boards the FF TITAN on its first, and last, voyage across the galaxy.





	1. 1 Gooseflesh skin

****The entire dock was flooded with people, every last head craned up to take in the massive scale of the new spaceship. Everyone except Vegeta. Where others ogled and marveled the _F.F. TITAN,_ singing its praises in awed tones, Vegeta kept his eyes forward and struggled to keep down the black stone of helplessness that rolled in his belly. This was no ship of dreams, but a slave ship taking him home in chains.

Outwardly, he was everything a titan recruit should be: strong, proud, composed. But inside, he was screaming.

The Lord Commander, Frieza, was ahead of him, walking up the gangway to board his new vessel. Though small in stature, the commander was oppressive in presence. Vegeta could feel the weight of his malevolence even across the dock. His father was making a valiant attempt at small talk, a wasted effort given Frieza was far more interested in soaking up the adoration of the crowd than listening to anything a king from a trifling planet had to say. As usual, neither were paying him any attention. They didn’t care or even notice him. He was merely an accessory to this arrangement, the punctuation point of his own indentured sentence.

It struck Vegeta that he could easily slip back into the crowd and disappear before anyone had the chance to discover he was gone.

Unconsciously, his feet slowed.

“What’s the hold up, Vegeta?” The slimy dulcet tones came from Frieza’s right hand man, Zarbon, the last voice he wanted to hear while flirting with the notion of escape. “I understand your stunted stature makes walking difficult, but if you could find it within yourself to trot along inside, I can have a nurse fetch you a hover chair.”

Vegeta’s fists clenched at the humiliating suggestion, but he swallowed back his pride, refusing to rise to the bait. “Forgive me, Titan, I was appreciating the craftsmanship of the ship and became distracted.” It was a good a lie as any.

Zarbon stepped up next to him. He was much taller than Vegeta, wearing ornate dress armor that left his hand and face tattoos proudly on display. The titan looked up at the vessel they were about to board. “Yes, it is impressive, isn’t it? An indestructible ship for an indomitable Lord. I hear they employed the finest minds in the galaxy for its construction.” He looked down at Vegeta, a nasty twinkle in his unnerving eyes. “No one from planet Vegeta, though. But then your kind have never been very bright, have they?”

Vegeta felt the lancing insult cut through him. Back home, such a remark would have been rectified in blood. Here he had to suffer it. “Our talents lie elsewhere,” he growled, his tone barely acceptable for addressing a superior.

Zarbon smiled, amused to see the Saiyan struggle at reigning in his temper. He held out a hand towards the threshold of the ship. “After you, little prince. Wouldn’t want you getting lost, would we? That would reflect rather poorly on your father.”

Vegeta felt the bitter truth of that burn in his mouth, and he stepped inside the ship. As the door slid shut behind them, so too were his fancies of freedom closed to him forever.

* * *

~xox~

 

Bulma held the holographic tablet in her hand and pretended to be doing a series of last-minute checks on the cargo-hold. In truth, she wasn’t supposed to be here. Despite her conniving and flirting, she hadn’t been able to convince the right people to get her on _TITAN_ ’s crew staff for its maiden voyage — apparently her transient background put a crimp in their rigorous screening process. She had left Earth at a tender age with a thirst for adventure and little else. Upon discovering intelligent life — and a lot ofincredible technology — she jumped from space station to moon to planet until, years later, she eventually caught wind of the most ambitious spaceship project to date. There was no way that was going to happen without her throwing her hat into the mix. The chance to be arms-deep in the most sophisticated technology the galaxy had to offer was too good an opportunity to pass up.

But as the project started wearing down, her future grew uncertain. She was told at every corner that she was not wanted once the ship was completed. But like hell she was going to let that stop her. She had helped design and build the _F.F. TITAN_. She knew every corner and circuit board and system program of the whole damn ship. It took barely a few hours to come up with a plan, a few days to implement it. Stealing a pair of crew overalls and sneaking aboard hadn’t exactly been rocket science (of which she was also quite skilled in). All she had to do now was lay low until the ship broke the atmosphere and it would be easy-street from here on out.

A couple titans marched by; they were easy to spot with their telltale armor, facial tattoos, and unnerving eyes. Bulma kept her face lowered over the cargo dossier, doing her best to be inconspicuous. Titans gave her the creeps, and not only for their fearsome reputation on the battlefield. There was something… _off_ about them. Just a little too arrogant and a little too obedient. Not to mention their eyes; the light didn’t reach them. It probably had to do with the tattoo process they underwent which turned the sclera — the white part of the eyes in humans — black. When a titan looked at you it was like being eyeballed by a shark, and just as potentially dangerous. It was deeply unsettling.

Thankfully these titans had better things to be do than concern themselves about her, the largest of them curling a nasty-looking whip about his tattooed fist. When they were gone, Bulma checked the area one last time before closing her tablet and slipping inside the maintenance room. On the far wall was a hidden door she had installed. She slipped inside to a little room she had built, complete with a bed roll and some supplies. She laid out on her bed and turned her tablet back on, scrolling through the influx of information from the ship’s start up logs — yes, she had hacked into the ship’s computers, what of it? — and got settled in. It wasn’t a big or glamorous space, but hey, it was free. What more could a stowaway ask for?

* * *

~xox~

 

Vegeta let the dinner conversation wash over him. It was hard to concentrate, not only because the topic held little interest for him but because his body was screaming. He was positive the wounds on his back had split and were freshly bleeding. Luckily he had thought to wear his cape to hide any stains. Still, just the act of sitting straight in a chair was agonizing. He refused to let it show, refused to give any of these bastards the satisfaction.

As soon as the _TITAN_ had taken off, he was sent to meet his soon-to-be fellow titans. He suspected it wouldn’t be pleasant. Even prepared for a hazing, he never anticipated they would whip him, one lash for every titan ‘sibling’ he would gain. Something about ‘sharing the burden of responsibility’, ‘bearing your brothers and sisters on your back’, ‘rites of passage’… blah blah fucking blah. He stopped listening after the first few lashes bit right through cloth and muscle and began exposing bone, blood dripping down his back and filling his mouth as he bit his cheeks to keep from screaming.

He lost track of how many lashes he earned. Frieza had _a lot_ of titans.

His Saiyan genetics meant he had healed — at least enough — to make dinner. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lie in a hospital bed and let rumors of weakness spread about him or his people. Whatever these assholes wanted to throw his way, he would take it. He had to, for his own pride and the pride of his people. It was his duty, or so his father kept insisting. “We need this treaty, my son. Our society won’t survive without the technology of the empire.”

Food was put before him, but his usual vigorous appetite was lacking. “Care for some wine, Vegeta? You look rather peaked,” Zarbon drawled, knowing full well why Vegeta was pale. His lashes had been some of the cruelest to bear.

“I do not partake,” he replied curtly, forcing himself to stab at his dinner so as not to appear weak. “It dulls the senses.” He shoved the forkful of food into his mouth and forced himself to swallow.

Frieza laughed airily from the head of the table. “Oh ho ho, your boy is disciplined, I’ll give you that, King Vegeta,” he complimented. “I do appreciate that quality in my titans.”

“I think you’ll find my son to be a fine addition to your ranks,” the king promised. “He is the most accomplished among our people, and at such a young age.”

Frieza’s eyes narrowed. “So you keep telling me. I grow bored of hearing it.”

“Ah… Yes. Well then, Lord Commander, I’m curious. The name of this vessel. Was it inspired by your elite force?” the king hastened to change the subject.

Frieza leaned back in his chair, swilling his wine about in his glass. “Yes. I am ever so proud of my titans, so what better name for my new ship, wouldn’t you agree?” His lips curled in a dark smile. He didn’t wait for a reply. No one would dare to disagree. “And I quite liked how the name encapsulates the sheer magnitude of its size too.”

“One would think you have an unnatural preoccupation with size,” Vegeta grumbled under his breath as the others at the table voiced their agreement.

A sharp elbow jabbed him in the side. He winced, more from the wounds on his back than anything else, and looked to his right. His father was glaring murder at him. “Remember your place, boy _,_ ” the king hissed furiously, casting Frieza a furtive look to make sure the commander hadn’t overheard the insulting remark.

Vegeta thinned his lips and kept his mouth shut for the rest of the meal. By the time dinner was over he was feeling extremely poor, his back on fire and his face sweating. He must have overestimated his healing, or underestimated the severity of his lashes. Either way, he excused himself before he passed out on his plate or threw up what little he had eaten, and headed for the observation deck to get what counted as ‘fresh air’.

* * *

~xox~

 

The observation deck was situated near the front of the vessel and domed by a large glass bubble that protected the onlookers from the vacuum of space while also allowing for a spectacular view of the galaxy.

Bulma lay sprawled on a bench on the lower deck. The view wasn’t quite as good but it was unoccupied and close to an exit in case security came by and she needed to duck out. The stars she could see were breathtaking. She would never grow tired of looking at them. Any time she grew homesick she just looked up into space and considered all the unexplored planets, technology, and adventures awaiting her, and she would be motivated to push on.

She heard footsteps. Turning her head to the upper deck, a man in armor approached the railing. Bulma hitched a brow at the sight of him — human? Wait, no… not quite. Was that a tail around his waist? And something about the hair seemed a little unnatural by Earth standards. Still, it was kind of nice to see someone human-ish. Not bad looking, either. The only detractor were a couple tattoos around his eyes. Titan markings, though far fewer than she was used to seeing. And no all-black eyes. Interesting.

Her curiosity piqued, Bulma found herself staring. Though the man’s armor appeared battle-functional, his red cape was less so, the marking of someone important. Most intriguingly of all, it wasn’t titan-standard issue. Neither were the gloves that hid his hands which now dangled over the railing. Who and what was he? A dignitary perhaps? He certainly held himself with importance, even managing to lean against the deck in an aristocratic manner. The man was an enigma.

His sixth sense must have been tripped, for his eyes turned and locked directly onto her. For a moment they stared at each other from across the divide of the decks as stars were born and burned out and died around them. Nothing was said, no smile or nods exchanged. There was just this moment, this raw fleeting impasse where they recognized the existence of the other, and were seen in turn.

Then another approached the railing. This alien Bulma did know.

The Lord Commander.

You didn’t get far in the galaxy without quickly learning who Frieza was.

The diminutive lizard-like alien approached the other man, his tail whipping slowly back and forth in his wake. He placed his claw-like fingers on the man’s shoulder and leaned in, whispering something that Bulma couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, it caused the man at the railing to pale. Frieza’s fingers tightened and the man’s cheek twitched, struggling to keep the pain from his face — but she saw.

Then Frieza threw back his head and laughed, the sound carrying all the way to her on the lower deck. He walked off, leaving the man sweating and alone. He stood frozen for several minutes before he came back to himself. Consciously or not, his eyes sought hers out, but something in his expression had changed. The light in his eyes was gone. It was like staring into the eyes of a dead man.

Her skin broke out into gooseflesh.

He turned and left the deck. Haunted by what she had seen, Bulma decided to do the same and retreated back to her hidden room.

* * *

 

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** I know this is a smutfest, but this one’s gonna be a slow burn, sorry guys.

Based on a little known movie, not sure if you’ve heard of it, called _Titanic_ by James Cameron. Movie buffs will notice that I’ve used a couple quotes from the film — though modified to fit the narrative.

DBZ characters are, obviously, Toriyama’s creations.

Written for **_The Prince and The Heiress_** ’ 2019 Smutfest. Find them on discord **,**[twitter](https://twitter.com/TPTH_Community), or [reddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/tpth).


	2. 2 Quaking body

Vegeta donned his Saiyan battle armor the next morning. He had been summoned for The Offering, one of his rites of passage to becoming a titan. As he pulled the blue battle suit over his skin he was relieved to feel his lash wounds had healed up overnight. Still, they would leave scars, the worst of which would stay with him forever.

The moment he stepped out of his bedroom door Zarbon was there to escort him.

“Good morning, little prince. Our Lord is waiting for you in the throne room.”

Zarbon fell in by his side and made snide remarks the whole way which Vegeta did his best to ignore. When they reached the throne room, Frieza was talking to one of his renowned and favored titans, Ginyu. The titan’s face and hands were so heavily tattooed it was hard to tell what his skin tone had naturally once been. In the other chair sat his father, the Saiyan king looking especially serious this morning. His eyes latched onto his son’s the moment Vegeta entered. He got the impression his father was trying to silently tell him something. A warning. He braced himself for what was to come, bowing his head in respect to the throne.

“Ah, so good of you to join us, Vegeta,” Frieza greeted, far too pleasant for Vegeta’s comfort. The commander’s eyes wandered over his uniform. “Hmm. That is not the standard titan armor we issued you with.”

Vegeta felt the threat in the air. “It seemed disingenuous to wear it until I was fully initiated, Lord Commander,” Vegeta lied. Like hell he was going to wear another man’s symbol any sooner than he had to. Frieza could take many things from him, but his pride wasn’t one of them.

“I see,” Frieza purred in a dangerous tone. “And here I thought it was because of your tail.”

He tensed and glanced at his father, but the king gave nothing away. He wasn’t sure where Frieza was going with this, but any time the commander got cryptic, heads were sure to roll.

“My tail, sir?”

“Yes. It’s a rather unsightly appendage, don’t you think? So much like _monkeys_. Vulgar. And it requires modifying your armor to accommodate it, does it not?”

“We’ve grown accustomed to it, Commander.”

“Well I have not,” Frieza responded, eyes narrowing. He leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to compose himself before idly changing the subject. “As you know, I’ve brought you here regarding your next rite of passage. Becoming a titan means becoming part of something greater, better than your old self. It is customary — and symbolic — to give up something of value from your old life to prepare you for entering your new one. Cutting old ties, as it were. Have you decided what that might be?”

Vegeta nodded, keeping his head down. “My father thought it wise to offer you a full battalion of our elite warriors.”

“Monkeys? In my army? Oh ho ho, I think not. Besides, I hardly see the personal sacrifice in that.”

Vegeta’s eyes flicked to his father’s, startled by the refusal. Hadn’t Frieza’s valet already approved the gift? “Commander… They are our best. They would have served as my personal guard and fought and died at my side in—”

Frieza waved a disinterested hand and Vegeta bit his tongue, looking down before the commander saw the outrage and confusion in his eyes. This is not what he had been lead to expect.

“No. I’ve come to a different decision,” Frieza announced with a dark smile. “Keep your unruly muscle, I’ve no need for them. All I require is your tail.”

Vegeta took a step back, the blood draining from his face. He glanced at his father, but the king refused to meet his eyes or speak out on his behalf. Vegeta was alone. The deal must have been brokered last night, and judging by the cruel smiles on Ginyu and Zarbon’s faces, Vegeta was the last to know about it.

“My Lord, my tail is—”

“A glaring symbol of your species,” Frieza interjected, his eyes shining like two blood-soaked diamonds. “I need you to understand, Vegeta, that becoming my titan means leaving your old loyalties behind. You will no longer be a Saiyan, but a weapon I may do with as I wish.”

“It’s not just a symbol, it’s a part of me!” Vegeta spluttered. His tail cinched anxiously about his middle. “We use out tails for balance. I will be less effective without it, surely you want your titans as lethal as possible? I cannot even transform without it!”

“No great loss then,” Frieza said with dripping nonchalance. “The transformation among your kind has always been unpredictable.”

“I am one of the few who can control it!” Vegeta snarled back. How many times had he torn himself apart in order to master the Great Ape? And now Frieza wanted to toss it aside for what — _aesthetically pleasing armor?_ “This is absurd!”

Ginyu took three powerful strides forward and struck Vegeta hard across the face, sending him to his knee.

“You will address the Lord Commander with respect, initiate!”

Cheek swelling from the blow, Vegeta spat out blood on the floor and glared balefully up into the titan’s black eyes. Ginyu kicked him in the face for the trouble.

“Enough, Ginyu. I want his tail, not his teeth,” Frieza chastised.

Ginyu backed off and Vegeta braced himself on the ground, taking a minute to get a handle over his rising panic, his fingers curling into the rug on the floor. This wasn’t happening. What kind of twisted person asked for someone’s limb?

“…Please.” It was the most difficult word he had ever spoken, ground out through his teeth and tasting like ash. He bowed his head in shame, already wishing he could take it back.

“Ah hah hah, what is this? A begging monkey? Oh Vegeta, it is not my birthday. Save your words, they will not sway me. I’m merely offering you a choice. Either give me your tail and pass your trail,” Frieza leaned forward in his chair, his eyes flaring with malicious delight, “or don’t.”

The gravitas of the statement fell with a death knell. Frieza could call it a ‘choice’ all he wanted, but Vegeta knew better. Refusing to comply was as good as declaring war against the empire. The Saiyans would be annihilated, and if he wasn’t killed too he would soon wish that he had been. There was no choice. Comply, or be consumed. Frieza had told him as much — threatened it — on the observation deck last night. “It is the way of the universe. The strong consume the weak. Consider that when you bear the mantle of titan not just for yourself, but for your people.”

Vegeta curled his hands into fists, fighting back bile that rose to his throat. He recalled the palace walls of his home, the green lakes of Vegeta-sai, the adoration of the warriors when he came home in triumph.

He sat back on his heels and let his arms go lax at his sides, head bowed. “Lord Commander. I offer you my tail.” The words sounded hollow, far away, as if spoken by someone else.

Frieza smiled and signaled for a couple guards to approach. They shoved Vegeta forward and held his arms out to keep him still.

“May I have the honor, My Lord?” Zarbon asked, not even trying to hide the vicious glee in his voice.

Frieza agreed and Zarbon took a ceremonial blade from one of the guards. “Don’t move, little prince,” he cautioned. “I would hate for my hand to slip.”

Vegeta couldn’t find it within to reply, his mind whirling in circles, going round and round and getting sucked into a black inescapable hole. _Detach,_ he told himself, trying to separate from the moment and the sickening lurch of his stomach.

“Tail,” one of the guards growled.

It was still wrapped tight around his waist, the fur ruffled and — to his shame — trembling with anxiety. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done to force it to unwind. The moment it was loose, Zarbon yanked it out straight and stepped on the end to hold it down. Vegeta had long ago learned to control the pain, but he still _felt_ it, and the indignity of it. Tails were extremely intimate parts of a Saiyan’s anatomy. The fact that Zarbon would be the last to touch his — and cut it off — added all the more salt to the wound.

Zarbon brought the blade up. Vegeta steeled himself and refused to look at any of them, especially his father.

_Do not scream. Do not give them that._

The blade came down. The pain was like nothing he had experienced before. Every nerve in his body was set alight and writhed with agony. The pain was fierce, paralyzing. He didn’t scream. He couldn’t, not outwardly. It was like being torn apart, having his flesh and rational stripped of him, his voice stolen, leaving him to roar internally, wailing and beating against the cage of his mind where the beast within him would be forever trapped.

The guards let him go without warning and he fell forward, barely catching himself on his forearms. He bowed over, curling up like a dying spider, his whole body quaking in the aftershocks.

Zarbon dropped his tail on the floor by his face, the appendage still twitching as the nerves slowly died. Experiencing it had been torture, but seeing it was an even worse psychological torture. It was traumatizing. _He could still feel it at his back_ , yet it wasn’t really there. He reached for the limb and curled his fingers around the fur. A rush of heat flushed his face, threatening to burn his eyes with tears.

“Well?” Frieza’s voice cut through his misery. “I’m waiting for your offering.”

He looked up and doubted he hid the burning hatred in his gaze. He was dangling on a dangerous precipice, this close from telling Frieza where he could shove his tail. Consequences be damned. But with a strength of will that impressed even himself, Vegeta swallowed back his suicidal remarks and ground his jaw just shy of breaking. He hadn’t let them cut his tail only to throw his life away now.

One of the guards had the gall to reach down and try to lift him to his feet. Vegeta shoved them aside and stood on his own, swaying for a moment. His center of gravity was off, and the shock from his armor rubbing against the raw nerves of his tail-stump was excruciating. He fought through it and approached the base of Frieza’s throne. He offered up his tail with both hands.

Frieza didn’t even look at it, staring him dead in the eye. The commander’s smile was as sharp as a the blade that had cut him. “I accept this humble offering. Leave it on the floor. That’s where garbage goes after all.”

Vegeta suppressed a tremor of rage and forced his hands to drop his tail at Frieza’s feet. It landed with a heavy thump, blood dripping out. Frieza eyed it for a moment before grimacing. “Disgusting. Ginyu, won’t you see that’s properly disposed of? Oh, and make sure Vegeta is sent a full wardrobe of titan attire. He won’t be needing his monkey clothing anymore.”

“Yes, my Lord!”

Vegeta burst through the exit the second he was dismissed. He didn’t get far before a hand fell on his shoulder. He whirled around and saw his father.

“Son, I—”

“Do not speak to me,” Vegeta hissed, wrenching his shoulder out from the old man’s grip. He thumped his hand against the king’s chest, backing him up. “None of this would have happened if you weren’t so weak!”

The king looked down, saying nothing in his defense. That pissed Vegeta off even more. This was not the proud man he remembered from his childhood speaking of legendary warriors and his bright future as king. Seeing the man broken was almost as sickening as the loss of his tail.

“You’re bleeding,” the king pointed out to the blood on the ground.

Vegeta turned and walked off. “It’ll pass, much as my respect for you has.”

* * *

~xox~

 

Bulma was half buried inside a wall fixing the circuitry. Well, ‘fixing’ wasn’t quite the right word. ‘Improving’ was more accurate. Sure, she wasn’t _technically_ responsible for this vessel anymore, but she sure as hell hadn’t signed off on a project only for it to arrive at its destination with crew complaining that the doors didn’t open as responsively as they could have.

Just as she finished re-routing the wiring and was thinking about doing a test run, said-door whisked open and a pair of muscular legs stalked through. It scared the crap out of her. Barely anyone came to the aft of the ship, a shame in her opinion because the view out the stern window was nearly as pretty as that on the observation deck — if you liked looking at three massive _n’qwin_ engines blasting unimaginable horse-power into the vastness of space. Which she did.

The newcomer either didn’t notice her or didn’t care about her presence and kept walking. She adopted the same attitude and finished putting all the paneling back into place before packing up her portable tool-belt. She was about to make a stealthy retreat when she noticed the blood on the ground.

That wasn’t good. Her head turned and followed the trail just as an almighty BANG echoed from the end of the corridor. It came again and again. Alarmed, she ran towards it until the aft window came into view, glittering with stars and the rippling exhaust of the engines. Standing against it was the dark-haired man from the deck, only he was not in such a contemplative mood. He was livid, screaming and throwing anything he could at the window. He picked up a bench (that had been _bolted_ to the floor) and smashed it to pieces against the glass with a ferocious roar.

Holy _shit_.

Not yet satisfied with his destruction, he started throwing himself against the window, over and over, snarling and screaming with a rage akin to a wild animal.

Bulma watched — horrified, mesmerized — from the corridor, hesitating to interrupt lest he turn his ire on her. The window shuddered with each attack, the sound of his strikes echoing in the large open room like a terrible gong, but thankfully the glass held. Finally, with a last tormented cry of fury, the man exhausted himself and slid down the glass, dropping his head onto his knees. He was breathing hard. Bulma wondered if he was crying.

She hesitated over what to do. None of this was her business, but between the blood on the ground and the sound of his harsh breathing, she didn’t find him very threatening. In fact, she felt sorry for him. What could have happened to cause him to act in this way? She approached carefully.The moment he noticed her his whole body tensed and she froze in place, waiting. When he didn’t tell her to get lost, she tried to find something to say to break the ice.

“If you’re trying to break the glass, it’s going to take more than you can throw at it.”

A long silence. Just as she wondered if he was going to ignore her until she left, he spoke. “…If it was my intention to break it, it would be broken already.”

Oh, sassy. She could do sassy. His voice was surprisingly pleasant, deep and gravelly and with no indication of tears. She closed the distance between them and took a seat by his side, sliding down the window to mirror his pose.

“Says you. This is quadruple-paned glass, buddy. The outer layer is a special acrylic blend that I helped design, and is reinforced by the energy shield. It’s built to withstand a meteoroid strike.”

The man snorted into his knees. “I eat meteoroid’s for breakfast.”

“Is that so?” She considered him. He was all compact muscle, like a mountain lion. 100% built for the extreme. She reached over and poked his bicep with her index finger. “Mm, not bad. Pretty tough, but a mite-shy of meteoroid status.”

The man lifted his head just enough to glare at her with one dark, incredulous eye. “Do you have a death wish?”

She dazzled him with her brightest smile. “You’re not the first to ask me that. But with all due respect, buddy, I’m not the one who just tried to throw himself out the window.”

He lifted his head all the way, glowering at her, but it was more annoyed than hostile. Her first assessment on the deck had been right: he was very good-looking. “I told you already, if it was my plan to shatter the window, we’d be dead already.”

“Well that's a relief because I’m still keen on living. Besides, if you want to throw yourself into the cold vacuum of space, there’s a perfectly good air lock over there.” She hitched a thumb at the corner of the room to the large service doors.

He regarded them with a neutral expression. “I don’t have the code.”

“Hah, easy. I can get that for you, but you’ll have to owe me one.”

“Yes, I’ll get right on that after killing myself.”

“Pfft, well _obviously_ you’d have to return the favor before turning yourself into a floating space-popsicle.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

They looked at each other and she smiled. He turned and let his head drop back against the glass with a thunk and stared up at the ceiling, the shadow of a smile crossing his lips.

It was the most bizarre conversation she’d ever had, talking so casually about his death as if they were chatting about the weather. But it seemed to be having a calming effect on him.

She took the opportunity to examine the couple of titan-tattoos he had about his eyes. “You don’t look like any titan I’ve seen before.”

“I’m not. Yet.” His eyes slid to the side, regarding her critically. “You don’t look like any authorized service crew I’ve seen before.”

Bulma felt heat rise to her cheeks. _Busted_. “…What gave it away?”

“Frieza doesn’t usually employ female mammalians on long voyages. He doesn’t want to risk one going into heat and causing a frenzy.” When he saw the outraged look on her face, he gave a nonchalant shrug. “His words, not mine.”

“He would be so lucky to have me as part of his crew!” she snorted with indignation. “This ship wouldn’t exist without me, and let me tell you, his stupid engineers did their best to sabotage its success at every turn. Hull integrity? Escape pods? What does any of that matter when you can have more SIZE and POWER? But hey I’m only a stupid female, what would I know?” She huffed, glad to finally get that out of her system.

It took a few seconds to notice his raised brow. “You’ll get yourself killed with a tongue like that,” he told her.

“This tongue is capable of _many things_ but so far hasn’t gotten me killed.”

“Tch. Vulgar.”

“It’s Bulma, actually.”

He eyed her speculatively, trying to decide if she was worthy of an introduction. “Prince V—” he winced, then amended, “Initiate Vegeta.”

Initiate? Is that why he still mostly looked human, er, _un_ titan-esque? “Nice to meet you, Prince Vegeta.”

His brow furrowed, the title stirring up conflicting emotions. “Not for much longer.”

There was a story there she wasn’t privy to. Whatever the details, even an idiot could tell he wasn’t keen on becoming a titan. “…Can’t you refuse?”

He looked down at his gloved hands, his expression grim. Then he stood up. “You should leave this area before you’re implicated,” he warned, indicating the mess of broken furniture and blood.

Right, the blood!

“Hey wait, you’re hurt!” she scrambled to her feet even as he started walking off. “I have a first aid kit—”

“It’s none of your concern. I’ve had worse.”

His sharp words brokered no room for argument. He stormed away, the soft whoosh of the door opening and closing telling her that he had left. She sighed and glanced out the window. The galaxy suddenly made her feel very small and alone, the scenery not as comforting as it usually was. She looked back at the mess and figured she should clean it up before anyone discovered it and thought to check the security cameras for the culprit. Vegeta looked like he was having a bad enough day as it was without getting in trouble for property damage.

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** My birthday present to myself is indulging in my favorite pastime: absolutely destroying Vegeta. _Ha-ppy bir-thday, to me…_ *insert Frieza laugh*

Edit: [fanart for this chapter by Rutbisbe](http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/182827656306/fanart-for-titan-ladyvegeets-fanfiction-for)


	3. 3 Musky Scent

Vegeta stood in the middle of a sea of people he didn’t know nor care about and who cared even less about him. His titan dress armor chaffed, all sorts of ill-fitting despite the assurance it had been tailored.

The main banquet hall of the _FF TITAN_ was a thing of pure opulence, decorated in the finest fabrics, metals, and artisan-wares the universe had to offer. It was lost on him. He felt numb, watching the night play out before him as if it were his whole life. An endless parade of parties and beatings, wars and humiliation. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter, the same insipid smiles hiding murderous intent.

“Lord Commander, this is your newest recruit?”

Frieza and his alien allies glanced his way, eying him over like a prized beast.

“A fine specimen, commander.”

“Yes,” Frieza agreed. “I have _great plans_ for that one.”

They looked away, turning back to their private conversations. Vegeta used the opportunity to distance himself from their group. He might have to attend the dinner party, but that didn’t mean he had to interact with any of them.

As he made his way to the other end of the room, a flash of familiar blue caught his eye. Doing a double-take, he came to halt when he saw the woman — what was her name, Bulma? — standing by the buffet table holding a glass of golden liquid. He almost didn’t recognize her. Gone were the scruffy crew overalls and messy curls, replaced with an elegant red dress that hugged her figure in all the right places, while her hair had been styled in a sophisticated bun with a few loose curls coquettishly framing her face. It was only by her unusual hair color and Saiyan-like similarities that he spotted her at all.

What the _hell_ did she think she was doing here?

He made a B-line right for her, shoving aside a large Heranian talking to her.

“Hey!” the turquoise brute complained.

Vegeta turned on him, pointing a gloved finger at the titan symbol on his chest plate. The Heranian balked and wisely made himself scarce.

“Wow. Jealous much?” Bulma asked, smiling at him with amusement. “I didn’t think you cared.”

“What are you doing here?” he hissed. He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping and grabbed her elbow, pulling her over to a corner out of Frieza’s line of sight. “You’re a fucking stowaway. Do you have a death wish?”

“Hey, _I’m_ not the suicidal one here,” she reminded him, sipping her drink cool as could be. “Relax, homeboy, no one’s the wiser. You said the commander doesn’t hire female crew. Do I _look_ like crew right now?”

“You look…” his voice trailed off as he made the mistake of eying her from close-up. Her dress hugged her figure well. _Very_ well, revealing soft curves and the lovely sight of her skin that looked so much like his own. The dress had a draping scooped neck, only held up by the tiniest of shoe-string straps. Vegeta had the irrational urge to snap it and watch the lush fabric ripple down…

Fuck. What was he thinking? He wasn’t accustomed to being around the opposite sex. Such encounters were rare and mostly of the alien variety, the women — if that’s what they even were — were often begging for their lives as he exterminated their race to sell off their planet. He barely had the chance to come home and bathe in hot water and the glory of his accomplishments before he was sent on to his next mission. Not enough time to glance at a female Saiyan let alone entertain ideas of doing anything more intimate with one.

Bulma arched a brow. “Well?” she prompted, grinning playfully. “I scrub up nice, don’t I?”

He blushed, much to his chagrin, and quickly released her elbow. “I should turn you in.”

“You could, but then you’d be no different from them,” she replied, tipping her glass towards the room of Frieza’s sycophants.

He ground his teeth, fists clenching. Annoyingly, she was right. Reporting her is exactly what was expected of him, but he didn’t owe them fuck. What did he care if she was a stowaway?

“…Just don’t get caught. I’m not sticking my neck out for you,” he grumbled.

She nudged him and grinned. Fuck she was pretty. “Aw, you do have a soft spot for me.”

“Tch. You are delusional.”

“More hungry, actually. What’s good to eat?”

“How should I know?”

She gave him a raised brow. “Isn’t all this paid for out of Frieza’s pocket?”

…Oh. Clever woman. It never occurred to him to spite the commander by racking up a large supply bill. Vegeta turned and surveyed the food before pointing to a red fist-sized object. “That.”

Bulma leaned across him to get a better look. She smelled divine, some kind of floral scent mixed with a softer feminine one that was just her. It was the nicest thing he had smelled in years.“What is it?” she asked.

He corralled his thoughts and said a foreign word. At her baffled look, he added, “It means, Heart of… the Deep.” It was as close of a translation as he could manage in the universal tongue.

“Is it expensive?”

He gave her a wolfish grin. “Very.”

She grinned back.

A minute later Vegeta had cleared a space in front of the ‘hearts’ so they could monopolize the platter. Bulma wriggled in right beside him, making him painfully aware of the scant millimeters separating them. She gave the food a distrustful once-over. “They’re not _actually_ hearts, right?”

He snorted. “It’s a rare fruit.”

She picked one up and rolled it about in her hands, bringing it to her nose to sniff the skin. “How do you eat it?”

“What do you mean how do you eat it? You eat it.”

“Just bite into it?” she asked, bringing it to her mouth while looking up at him for confirmation.

He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “Yes… probably.”

“Probably? What do you mean probably? You haven’t eaten one?”

“And if I haven’t? I still know how to eat food.”

She scrunched her nose. “Oh no, nuh-uh. I’m not guinea-pigging this without you, bud. Grab one.”

He rolled his eyes but complied, and she counted them down.

“Okay. In three… two… one…!”

They both took a bite, watching each other’s reactions. And stopped chewing at the same time.

“It’s…” she started to say.

“The most loathsome thing I have ever had the misfortune of placing in my mouth,” he finished for her.

“Oh my god yes,” Her eyes bulged and she raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh my GOD. It’s getting worse! We need to spit it out.”

Logically he agreed, but… “I am not _spitting_ in a banquet hall. Do you have any idea the low impression these people already have of me and my kind?”

“Then you won’t be disappointing anyone, will you?” she said, grabbing an empty glass and daintily spitting the foul fruit into it. “Oh that’s so much better. Here, no one’s looking.” She handed him the cup. He grimaced, glancing around. His mouth was tasting like rotting meat. Disgusted by it and the whole debacle, he spat the offensive mouthful into the glass and placed it at the end of table.

“So let’s never _ever_ do that again,” she said.

He silently agreed. Both their eyes drifted back to the horrific hearts.

“…Just _how_ expensive are they?”

“That plate is worth more than my planet,” he grumbled.

“That is the saddest thing I have ever heard… You wanna drop them off the deck?”

“You want _me_ to participate in something as asinine and wasteful as dropping the galaxy’s rarest fruit off a balcony?”

“Yes.” Her eyes twinkled playfully.

He smirked and felt something he hadn’t in a long while: _excitement_.

* * *

~xox~

 

The hearts made the most satisfying squelches as they impacted with the lower deck, made all the more gratifying to know that it was wasting Frieza’s wealth. The din of the party was a muted white-noise behind them as they took turns dropping the fruit over the railing. Bulma cheered and laughed, the sound of her voice infectious. Charming. Vegeta caught himself casting long sideways looks as she leaned over the railing to watch the plummeting missiles. It also afforded him a nice view of the back of her dress, or rather lack of one, the dress scooped low to reveal the entire expanse of her porcelain skin, with dimples on her lower back where a tail would have been if she were Saiyan. Vegeta swallowed thickly and turned his attention back to their childish game to calm his thundering heart.

“So what are your people called?” she asked.

“Saiyans.”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard that name about. I’m human.”

“Never heard of it.”

“No, don’t suppose you would’ve. Do Saiyans have a bad reputation or something?”

“Or something.”

He lobbed a heart all the way across the deck where it shattered against the dome in a mist of juice.

“Whoa. Nice arm,” she complimented.

He picked up another heart and rolled it about in his hands; there were only a couple left. He didn’t want to return to the party once they ran out.

“So,” she said, breaking the brief silence. “When do you become a full-fledged titan?”

He scowled, not answering right away. Bulma dropped the second-to-last heart off the deck, letting him answer in his own time.

“It’ll take place when this ship arrives at my home-world. It is customary for an initiate’s final rite of passage to be completed at his place of birth, if possible, to signify a new beginning. A re-birth.”

“Ah. What does that entail?”

“I do not know. It is a closely guarded secret known only to Frieza and his titans.” Knowing them, whatever the final rite was would be unpleasant. They’d already taken his tail, what further humiliation would they make him endure, this time in front of an audience.

“How did you get wrapped up in all of this?”

He shrugged. “The Lord Commander, who else? What better way to control my people than to keep its prince leashed at his side?”

She turned around, leaning back against the railing to get a better view of him. “But you don’t want to be a titan.” It wasn’t a question.

His mouth thinned. “It doesn’t matter what I want. I will do what is necessary for my people.” He dropped the last heart in his hand and watched it splat, the novelty having soured some.

They were out of hearts and excuses to be absent from the hall. Bulma watched the dignitaries mill and socialize inside. “Who are all these people anyway?” she asked. “Anyone fun?”

He glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. “Hardly.”

“Then let’s blow this place. Wanna go to a real party?”

He gave her an incredulous look but it quickly became apparent she wasn’t joking. She was really inviting him to skip Frieza’s dinner and go somewhere else. He could already hear his father’s warning, see Frieza’s disapproving moue, feel the pain of some punishment lavished upon him if caught. And yet he couldn’t stop a burning ache growing inside him, swelling bigger and bigger until he couldn’t contain it, like the great ape wanting to break free.

She must have seen the desire in his eyes because she didn’t wait for his answer, taking his hand. “C’mon. You look like you could use a good drink, and this place is watering its booze like nobody’s business.”

“I don’t drink.”

“We’ll get you a nice juice then. Whatever floats your boat. But we’re definitely going to bail on this snooze-fest. You’ve only got a few more weeks of freedom, right? Let’s live a little. Be a bad man for once.”

He scoffed, but when she tugged on his hand, he followed. They went back into the hall and wove through the crowd, making for the exit. His heart was racing. He looked around and spotted Frieza and his father still far on the other side of the room, lost in their own conversations. They wouldn’t notice him gone.

He and Bulma were almost at the exit when—

“Vegeta.”

 _Fuck._ Zarbon. Of all the fucking people to run into. Vegeta winced and reluctantly turned around.

Zarbon eyed him and Bulma with predatory black eyes. “Who’s this, little prince?” he growled.

Vegeta squeezed her hand in what he hoped she would understand to be a silent warning. Bulma squeezed back and offered Zarbon a beguiling smile, wrapping her free hand elegantly over Vegeta’s forearm. Irrationally, it made him want to stand up just a little bit taller.

“I’m Bulma. Pleasure to meet you, Titan. Are you one of Vegeta’s friends?”

Zarbon’s eyes trailed over her soft blue hair and lack of a tail, his gaze narrowing perceptively. “Vegeta doesn’t have friends. I am his superior.”

Bulma laughed — just a little too loud — as if hearing the drollest joke. “Oh my gosh, you titans are all _such_ a riot!” She swatted her hand playfully at him and spoke in that overly-loud, overly-joyful way people did after having too much to drink. As she leaned back, she teetered on her heels and caught her balance on Vegeta’s arm.

Oh, that clever minx. She was putting on an act.

“Vegeta — wait, that is your name, isn’t it honey? — Yes, this strapping gentleman here is helping me back to my room under Miley’s orders.”

“Miley?” Zarbon drawled, not buying it.

“Oh, you know Miley. MILEY! _MILEY_ , YOO-HOO!” Bulma shouted across the room, jumping on her tip-toes and waving obscenely in the air. Vegeta squeezed her hand in warning. She was laying it on way too thick.

Zarbon turned to survey the crowd, and suddenly went very stiff. Someone was waving back. Not just someone, fucking Milonius, the emperor of planet Brench. Vegeta eyed Bulma with renewed awe. Just who the fuck was this woman that she was rubbing shoulders with one of Frieza’s top allies?

Zarbon must have thought the same for he looked back at them like he had swallowed a frog. “I beg your pardon, miss. Sorry for holding you up.”

Bulma giggled and lightly patted his chest, making Vegeta scowl for some unknown reason. “Oh don’t be silly, there’s no harm done. Actually, be a love and keep this between just us, won’t you? I would hate to upset Mrs. Miley. She’s such a delicate thing.”

Zarbon nodded, blushing. “Of course.” His eyes moved over to Vegeta and his lip curled. “Don’t just stand there, initiate. See the young woman is safely escorted back to her room.”

“Yes, Titan.”

Vegeta helped ‘drunken’ Bulma out of the banquet hall. Once they were safely out of sight, she let him go and pulled off her heels, laughing. He pretended not to feel the loss of her touch. “Did you see the look on his face? I think he almost shat himself when the old codger waved back!”

Yes, he would treasure that look of horror on Zarbon’s face for the rest of his life. “You are certifiably insane,” he told her. “How the fuck do you know the emperor of Brench?”

“I don’t,” she laughed, plucking the pins out from her hair to let her long blue locks fall over her bare shoulders. “I mean, I only met the lecher tonight over the buffet. He and his cronies were complaining that the _FF TITAN_ isn’t pushing its engines fast enough, to which I had to interject because hello! We’re approaching the Atlantikos Cloud which has _trillions_ of icy planet-sized comets bouncing around. But I guess Miley was more interested in dissecting my décolletage than space travel regulations, so I excused myself.”

Vegeta scoffed, shaking his head with amazement. As they neared a crossways, it occurred to him he had no idea where they were going. He slowed down.

Bulma finished unpinning her hair and came to a stop with him, her pretty face framed in a wild sea of teal. He felt suddenly nervous to be alone with her like this. This was unchartered waters. He was at a disadvantage.

“Having second thoughts?” she asked, dangling her heels on one finger while her other hand slipped into his.

His heart did a funny little flip flop. “No.”

She gave him a wink and he followed her down a path he had never been before.

* * *

~xox~

 

The sound of raucous laughter and wild music filled the bowels of the ship. It was hot and stuffy. Bulma could already feel her skin start to prickle in sweat. She glanced at her companion. Vegeta must have been roasting in his armor.

They reached the door and she rapped her knuckles against it in a precise pattern. The door opened and they were allowed inside.

Now _this_ was a party, a chaotic explosion of smoke, noise, and colorful beings shouting, drinking, dancing, and engaging in all manner of games and… other activities that Bulma politely looked away from lest she learn more about alien anatomy than was keen to know right now. This was where the crew and less prestigious passengers of the _FF TITAN_ could cut lose from the oppressive regulations of their ‘superiors’.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

Vegeta looked around the room, his face stern and hard to read. She started to grow worried, thinking he didn’t approve.

“It’s a bit like home,” he finally admitted, then added, “Less blood though.”

She arched a brow, not entirely sure if he was joking or not. Still, he hadn’t disapproved so she led him further inside. Suddenly the music stopped and one by one, everyone turned to stare at them, or rather, him. His body language changed in an instant, growing tense and on guard. Murmurs of ‘titan’ echoed in the silence.

Damnit, his stupid armor.

“Pick me up,” she whispered to him.

“What?” He didn’t look at her, refusing to take his eyes off the threatening bodies around him.

“We need to show you’re one of them. Pick me up, sit us down, and put me in your lap.”

He finally slid his gaze to her, dark eyes calculating her plan. The tension in the room mounted. Just when she was about to throw a heel at him, he huffed and relented, scooping her up bridal-style. He did it with such ease she felt suddenly very weak-kneed.

Vegeta carried her to a vacant chair and they sat, Bulma settled in his lap and her arms wrapped about his neck to complete the charade. Everyone in the room gradually grew bored of staring and went back to their own business. The music started up, and the party went on.

Bulma let out a shaky breath. “Phew. Sorry about that. I should have realized they wouldn’t welcome a titan.”

“Not one yet.”

“Well _we_ know that, but to them? Initiate, titan, same difference.” She sat up, eying him over. “Are you wearing anything under this?”

He was still tense, scowling at the room, his hands flexing anxiously on her waist. “Just an undershirt,” he growled.

“That’ll do. Let’s take this off.”

He gave the room one last wary glower before starting to unbuckle his chest armor. Bulma watched. “Why are you even wearing this ugly getup? I much preferred you in the other suit.”

His chest puffed up at that, a small approving smile ghosting his mouth. “You have good taste.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m not wearing this by choice.”

“Orders from above?”

He grimaced in silent confirmation. Jeez, what part of his life wasn’t governed by someone else? They had him on a tighter chain than most guard dogs.

“Here, let me help,” she offered, pulling off his left glove.

“Wait—”

Too late. She gasped, her eyes going wide. “Oh, wow… are you kidding me?”

They both stared at his hand.

It was heavily tattooed, absolutely covered in the most astounding designs. Hand tattoos weren’t uncommon, many of Frieza’s warriors and titans had them to showcase their achievements, but the approved designs were sparse and geometric, similar to the empire’s alphabet. Vegeta’s were on a whole other level. It was Monet next to a child’s finger-paintings. There was no comparison.

Pulling off his other glove, she let out a little “oh” at seeing his right hand just as dramatically marked. Vegeta said nothing, strangely submissive, letting her run her thumbs along the intricate swirls that danced up his fingers, over the backs of his hands and slipped inside his sleeves.

“Holy crap, how far up do these go?”

He leaned back, pulling off his armor in one smooth movement, setting it down on the floor by their chair. He wore a thin cream undershirt over his densely muscled torso that stuck to his skin with sweat. He pushed up the sleeves so she could see his tattoos which reached all the way up to his elbows.

“I am the most accomplished among my people,” he told her.

From the extent of his tattoos, she could believe it. She took his arms and turned them over to examine the designs. “My god. They’re really beautiful.”

Something passed over his face, a flash of appreciation in his eyes he couldn’t quite suppress. “They are traditional to my people,” he confided softly. “Frieza outlawed them when he came into power, but I insisted on having them done in secret.”

She stroked his palms with reverence. “That’s why you wear gloves?”

He nodded. “Mostly. Though they are useful for punching things.”

“Like windows?” she teased.

He gave her a reproachful look. “Do not start that again.”

She threw him a cheeky grin and he actually smiled back. Slowly, he started moving his fingers against hers. His touch sent tendrils of electricity throughout her. Peeling off his armor had somehow revealed the man beneath. She nestled closer against him now that it was comfortable to do so, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She could smell him, a musky scent that was rich and pleasant and stirred up an ache in her primitive self. She continued mapping his tattoos with her fingers.

“Do all of these represent death?”

He was silent for a while, weighing his words carefully. “Many do,” he finally confessed. “But each one means one less of my own people had to die.”

Her chest constricted at his words. His existence was a sad one. Kill or be killed. The truth of it was written like vines on his arms.

“What’s your home-world like?”

“Desert mostly. Red. With spiring mountains, and vast oases of green water. It is a hard planet, but we are a hard people.” He looked down at her, watching their fingers caress one another in a slow tentative dance. “The gravity is intense. I do not think you should disembark the _TITAN_ when we arrive.”

“You just don’t want me snooping about your home.”

“I’m serious, Bulma. The gravity there is ten times as strong as the modulators on this ship. Unless you want to look like those hearts we splattered on the deck, you should find another planet to sneak off to.”

“Noted,” she said, feeling a moment’s sadness at the idea that they would part ways come his planet.

He threaded his fingers with hers, and she admired the stark contrast of her pale skin next to his tanned tattooed hand.

Suddenly he stiffened, his gaze sliding to the left. She followed his line of sight as two large insect-like aliens — Arlians — approached, eyeing him and his armor on the ground. He placed his free hand at the small of her back — hot skin on skin — in a surprisingly protective gesture.

“This’s our table, _Titan_ ,” one the Arlians spat.

She tried to smooth the situation over. “Hey fellas, there’s plenty of tables to go around—”

“Don’t see your names on it,” Vegeta cut her off, looking directly at them in challenge.

They made unhappy clicking sounds. One slammed its arms on the table, leaning in to eyeball Vegeta up and down. “Don’t look so tough to me. All those rumors about titans are a crock of shit.”

The corner of Vegeta’s mouth curled up. He gently set Bulma down and pushed her behind his chair, never taking his eyes off the Arlian as he leaned forward, not the least intimidated. “Care to test that theory?”

Bulma watched, and she wasn’t the only one. Those nearby had taken notice and were waiting to see how the scene would unfold.

“Five dowels says the Arlian takes the titan,” someone near her whispered.

She scoffed. Sure, the Arlian was twice Vegeta’s size, but she had seen him rip apart metal like a lion did a gazelle. “I’ll take that bet.”

Vegeta and Arlian sized each other up. “Well?” Vegeta sneered. “All bark and no bite. Typical.”

The Arlian hissed and swept everything off the table to shatter on the floor. “I’m going to take you down, Titan.”

Vegeta grinned. “I’d like to see you try.”

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** Who’s taking bets?


	4. 4 Breath on Neck

“TI-TAN! TI-TAN! TI-TAN!”

The chant filled the smokey room as dozens of aliens crowded around, veering for the best view of the small table. Vegeta sat on one side, leisurely chugging down a fermented drink with his left hand while his right arm sat perpendicular on the table, three pairs of hands trying to pull it down to no avail. His arm wouldn’t budge and he wasn’t even trying yet.

After he’d bested the Arlian in 3 easy back-to-back arm-wrestling matches, others had been keen to challenge him. He couldn’t remember how many victories he was up to, the foamy liquid they kept feeding him not helping in that department. Close to thirty empty glasses were at his side, his challengers not-so-secretly hoping to get him drunk enough to lose, but hey hadn’t bargained on his Saiyan metabolism.

Still, Saiyan genetics or not, he was starting to feel rather… good.

He finished his drink and set the glass down with the others, turning dark eyes onto the two men and one massive woman who were sweating, puffing, and straining to get his arm to yield.

“My turn,” he announced with a wicked smirk. In one quick decisive action, he slammed his arm to the left and took all three of them with it, splitting the wood of the table from the force of the impact. The losers moaned and clutched their bruised hands, the rest of the room erupting in cheers and curses as metallic dowels were exchanged between those who’d placed bets.

The losers left but no one took up a seat. “What, no more takers?” he called out boastfully. Friendly hands slapped him on the back, congratulating him and calling him a beast, but the crowd dispersed to find fresh drinks and other entertainment where the odds were not so stacked against them.

High on his winning streak, Vegeta stood — blinking in surprise as the world tilted on its axis for a moment — and looked around for her.

Bulma was leaning against a nearby wall, counting a large stack of shiny dowels she had made off his matches. They were mostly low-grade metals, the people here not overly wealthy, but it was still a sizable windfall for a couple of arm-wrestling bets. She grinned as he approached. “Havin’ fun, _titan_?”

He braced his arm on the wall by her side, finding it a little harder than usual to stand straight. He didn’t protest the nickname; the crowd had started cheering it of their own volition and for once the word was spoken in friendly admiration, so Vegeta had tolerated it. “Perhaps I am.”

She gave him a smile that widened the longer she stared at him. Something warm unfurled in his chest, and he leaned in just a little closer to hear her over the noise of the party.

She offered up half the dowels. “We could get by, you and I, hustling the universe bar after bar.”

He looked at the dowels and for a moment indulged in the fantasy, imagining what it would be like to flee his shackles and live a life on the run with her at his side. Seeing the universe not as a destroyer or enforcer of it, but a part of it, enjoying a life among it.

She tapped his chest with her winnings. “Think about it. I could use your muscle and you could use my brains and tech-savvy. We’d be an unstoppable force.”

His heart ached at the thought. If only it were possible. He shook his head. “You look after my share.”

She shrugged but didn’t try and fight him, hiking up her dress. The smooth expanse of her pale thigh instantly drew his attention, the neurons in his brain fritzing out as she hitched the red fabric higher and higher until she found her hidden garter belt. She fastened the dowels to it, but he was far more fascinated by how powdery soft her skin looked.

“Hey, eyes up here, homeboy,” she said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. He jerked out of his trance and dragged his gaze up. Her pretty lips curled into an amused smile. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

He shrugged. “Winning so much made me thirsty.”

“Oh my god, you did not just say that.” She laughed, letting the hem of her dress ripple back down. He saw she had put her shoes back on at some point, a smart move given the state of the floor. He noticed this because the toe of her heel started rubbing coyly against his leg.

He swallowed and tried to focus on the conversation. “What is that stuff called?”

“What you were drinking? On Earth we’d call it beer, but they make it a lot stronger out here though.”

He scoffed. “Not that strong.”

“Is that so? Tried standing on your own lately?” she asked looking pointedly at the arm he was braced on.

He gave her an offended look and pushed off from the wall to prove a point — only to find himself falling back.

“Whoa there big guy!” She grabbed his shirt, but the sudden reversal had them collide into each other.

“Fuck. I think there’s something wrong with the artificial gravity modulator,” he grumbled, trying to find his balance with the help of his hands on her dainty waist.

Bulma laughed and took his hands, encouraging them to wrap tighter about her middle, her own arms sneaking up around his neck. She coaxed his brow to rest on hers, and he found the embrace to be pleasant. “Fat chance. You’re just sloshed.”

He scowled. “You use a lot of strange expressions.” She was confounding, like no one he had ever met before. It was as if the misery of life hadn’t touched her. He was both horribly jealous and terribly drawn towards her because of it. “Is that your planet?”

“Is what my planet?”

“Earth?”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, her fingers toying with the small spikes of hair at the back of his neck. It felt nice. Soothing. Melting away every little worry and ache he had until all he felt was peace. He wanted her to touch him all over and make him feel this good everywhere. In a rare moment of vulnerability he closed his eyes, just enjoying being with her and rocking ever so gently, back and forth, in what he supposed could be considered his first dance.

“Hey baby-drunk, don’t go to sleep on me yet. I don’t think I could carry you,” she whispered against his cheek. Her breath was warm and sweet.

He nodded lazily. One of his hands found the small of her back and started caressing it. It was as soft as he’d imagined — softer. He loved the way her skin felt under his fingertips, how she shivered in response and pressed closer against him.

“Tell me about your world,” he murmured.

“You want to know about Earth?”

He blinked open his eyes to look at her. “I want to know about you.”

Something vulnerable flashed in her eyes. He wished to capture it and examine every facet of its meaning. “…Okay,” she finally agreed with a strangely shy smile.

He lost track of how long they stayed that way while she regaled him of her home, her family, her adventures through the galaxy. She had led a charmed life, at least compared to his. Her planet was yet untouched by the empire, but that wasn’t exactly news to him. He had destroyed many worlds like hers before. In fact, it could have easily been hers.

 _That_ was an unpleasant thought.

“Hey. Where’d you go?” she asked, searching his eyes and brushing her thumbs over his titan tattoos.

“I’m here.” At least for now. For this trip. Once the _TITAN_ docked on his home-world, whatever this little thing he was indulging in with her would end, and his life as a full-fledged titan would begin. It hurt to think about. She had given him a taste of another life and it left him thirsty for more.

But he had responsibilities.

He regretfully disengaged, unwinding his tail from about her waist… only to remember he didn’t have one. It was a sobering reminder. Gut wrenching.

He looked around, desperate to get some fresh air.

“Vegeta?”

Where was the fucking exit? He had lost track of it. That wasn’t like him. Fuck. What was he even doing down here? It was hot and noisy and stuffy and filled with strangers who could stab him in the back at any moment — _why had he taken off his armor?!_ — whose worlds he might one day be ordered to obliterate, if he hadn’t done so already just to ink their blood onto his hands in commemoration.

_We’re all just stains waiting to blacken someone’s hands._

He couldn’t breathe.

He went to brace himself against the nearest table but his hand missed and he fell.

“Vegeta!” Bulma ran to his side to help him up. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I need to get out of here,” he gasped.

“Yes, of course.”

They picked up his things and with his instructions she helped him back towards his room. As they got close they passed an open door. The compromising sounds emanating from within caught their attention.

It was a private party, several important allies of the empire lounged around, drinking and eating and watching the ‘entertainment’. In the middle of the living room Titan Jeice was bent over an alien, fucking it dispassionately to the cheers of the audience. They called ribald instructions and made the most degrading comments, passing out dowels and betting on the titan’s stamina. Jeice was slicked with sweat and clearly flagging, but he let their comments roll off his back. The only reason he would allow this is if the Lord Commander had sanctioned it.

Suddenly Jeice glanced over and their eyes met. Even with his all-black eyes, Vegeta recognized the look of emptiness in them. It was the same look that greeted him each day in his mirror.

“C’mon,” Bulma insisted with a hint of fear in her voice, tugging him gently onwards before they were implicated.

When they reached his room she sat him down on the bed. He rested his head in his hands. He felt thin and frayed, like an old over-worn shirt.

She said something about getting him into fresh clothes and dug through his drawers. Normally he would eviscerate anyone for touching his things without asking, but he couldn’t bring himself to care right now.

“Oh my god… that’s just not right…”

He glanced up. All his drawers were pulled open, each one neatly packed with brand new titan regulated attire. His own clothes were nowhere to be seen.

They were stripping him of who he was one layer at a time.

She pushed the drawers shut and gave him a worried look. Pity. She was pitying him. He looked away with disgust.

“Let’s just get you some water instead.”

“I can take care of myself,” he hissed, humiliated. She was treating him like an invalid.

“I never said you couldn’t,” she replied, going into the bathroom. “Doesn’t mean I can’t help, right?” She returned a few seconds later with a glass of water.

He glared at her offering. “I am _fine_!”

She pursed her lips and stared at him, eyes dark with anger. She placed the glass down and drew herself up. “Are you, Vegeta. Really? Because I don’t think you are.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I have eyes in my head. Just look at this!” She waved her hands about the room. “Look at what they were forcing that other titan to do. Is this what you want for your life?”

He stood, getting up into her face. “Like I have a fucking choice. Not all of us can jump in a ship and flee their responsibilities when they feel like it. I have to worry about my father, my people, my whole fucking planet!” He was lashing out as if she were the personification of the bit they had him champing at.

“And who’s worrying about you?” she countered. “Don’t you see? You’re just making excuses for Frieza to use against you. Trapping you. Vegeta, you’re going to _die_ if you don’t break free, maybe not right away because you’re strong and proud. But eventually that fire in you is going to burn out.”

He felt an icy cold creep over him, killing every warm feeling he had ever felt. “Get out.” His voice was low and threatening as he pointed to the door.

“Vegeta—”

“Leave, Bulma. If I see you again, I will turn you in to Frieza myself.”

Her fierce blue eyes began to swim. He expected her to yell or reason with him — was almost hoping she would — but she turned and left without another word, slamming the door behind her a little too hard. It was the most anticlimactic way to end the night and it left Vegeta feeling uncomfortable, his stomach roiling in an unsettling way.

Deeply unsatisfied, he picked up the glass of water and smashed it to the back of the door, then did the same with his leg armor for good measure. He threw himself down on his bed, but had to push up and peel off his undershirt; hidden beneath the sweat and smoke he could still smell her on it.

With that taken care of, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, hoping that the ship might blow up before he could wake.

* * *

~xox~

 

He was dropping hearts off the deck. One after the other they fell and burst apart on the floor below. And each time his hands grew darker.

One of the hearts bounced, landing wet and heavy and whole before it started to seep blood.

Dread crept up his spine.

“Vegeta?”

He turned sharply and saw Bulma standing on the other end of the deck in a white dress. She looked distressed, clutching her hands to her chest. They pulled away revealing a gaping hole, her palms soaked in blood.

“Have you seen it?” she asked him, her voice tiny and trembling.

He didn’t know what to say. He tried to reach her but her eyes rolled up into her head and she collapsed.

Dead.

He had seen enough death to know what it looked like. Still, he fell to her side to pick her up, but when he grabbed her blood-soaked dress it changed into his royal cape. He looked around, finding himself within the tall corridors of the Saiyan palace. He spotted his father, beaming so proudly at him as he draped the cape over his shoulders, telling him of all the great things he would one day achieve as king.

Then he was alone.

He ran and ran from one end of the palace to the other, crying out for anyone to hear him but no one was there. Finally he collapsed to his knees in distress. A chillingly familiar hand leaned down and removed his cape. “You won’t be needing this anymore,” Frieza purred. His cold calculating eyes latched onto Vegeta’s tail, and his lips curled up. “Or that.”

Vegeta couldn’t move, paralyzed as Frieza leaned in and took his tail in a vice-like grip and _pulled_. His tail wrenched free and kept on pulling, taking all of him with it. Vegeta watched in horror as the tattoos on his hands were pulled away like an unraveling string, Frieza laughing maniacally all the while. The commander was taking every last one of his accomplishments and hard-earned victories until there was nothing left but a mess of tail and tattoos on the floor. ‘Vegeta’ was gone, a shell of what he had been, his hands now a blank slate for Frieza to write over.

His father stood in the corner watching, not with pride—

But with pity.

Someone banged at the door.

Vegeta woke with a start in his bed on the _FF TITAN_. Sweat clung to his skin. The banging continued until his father let himself in, his boots crunching over broken glass. Vegeta made an unhappy sound and tried to smother himself with his pillow. Fuck, he felt like death. His mouth tasted dry and nearly as bad as it had after eating the heart-fruit, his stomach feeling almost as queasy.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet?” his father snapped. “Do you want to anger Frieza by being late for breakfast?”

The mention of food almost made him throw up. “How many fucking meals does that psychopath insist we attend?”

A hand smacked him upside the head. Vegeta raised his face to glower at his father.

“Watch your tongue, boy. You never know when ears might be listening.”

The annoying part was his father was right. It would be just like Frieza to spy on them. The king put something down on the table. A gift? That was a first.

“What’s that?” he asked, pushing himself up in bed.

“How should I know? It was outside your room. Didn’t you order it?”

Vegeta grunted. It was surprising he could even raise his expectations anymore to feel them be disappointed, especially when it came to his father.

The king opened his drawers and hesitated at seeing the titan-wear, but it didn’t stop him from pulling out a uniform and laying it at the end of the bed. “Stop dawdling. You need to shower, you reek of smoke. And why is there glass on the floor? What the hell did you do last night?”

“What does it matter?”

The king narrowed his eyes. “Your attitude has been dangerously borderline of insubordinate of late. Need I remind you what’s at stake here? Do you wish to see our people wiped from existence?”

“Do not lecture me on what’s at stake. I know better than anyone. Just ask my fucking tail.”

The king’s mouth turned down. “You think I haven’t made sacrifices? Do you think it was easy for me to hand you over — my own son and heir — to that goddamned…” he trailed off, ending his tirade before he said anything compromising. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is not what I wished for you, or for our people. But I had to consider our survival. The strong consume the weak.”

The bed fell away and Vegeta felt sick, Frieza’s words coming back to haunt him. The commander must have used the same speech to convince his father to give him up for titan-hood.

_—excuses for Frieza to use against you. Trapping you._

He felt bile burn the back of his throat and swallowed it down, putting a hand over his face. “Stop worrying, father, it’s beneath you. Besides, it’s my burden to bear now. Have I ever disappointed?”

There was a heavy silence. Then a hand rested on his shoulder and Vegeta looked up into the king’s solemn face. “Of all I have ever achieved, you are my greatest accomplishment, my son. A father couldn’t be prouder—”

Vegeta got up, pushing the hand away. He couldn’t hear this. “My accomplishments are my own. Do not try and take them from me, I already have Frieza doing that to my identity.” He made for the bathroom.

“…I’ll go to the banquet hall to placate Frieza until your arrival.”

Vegeta waited until he heard the bedroom door open and close before he could uncurl his fists.

He let his turbulent emotions wash away down the drain as he showered. When he finished, the bedroom was blessedly empty. The mysterious tray was still on the table. Looking for any reason not to put on his titan armor, he scoped it out. There was a nondescript white envelope and a metallic thermos. The thermos contained a warm pleasant-smelling broth, and the envelope had a folded piece of paper and a small cylindrical item inside. He thumbed open the letter.

∎▶︎▶︎𝝣⋰𝝯⦁﹅ ** _∎_** ⥡ 

~ ❤︎

The letters were the script of the empire, but nonsensical. Still, there was only one person who could have sent it, only one person who gave a damn enough to send him anything. Why Bulma even bothered after the way he treated her was beyond him.

He sank to a seat and stared at the note so long he lost track of time. He sipped the broth, letting it settle his nausea and fill the hollowness he felt inside. The small capsule-shaped item was a puzzle. He rolled it over and over in his palm until it occurred to compress the node on top. The device burst open in his hand and revealed a Saiyan suit.

How the fuck…?

A note fell out: _Looks like they forgot to check the laundry._

Vegeta went totally numb. Here he was giving everything he had — his loyalty, his tail, his future — to those who didn’t appreciate him, who only wanted more, who only wanted to see him suffer and fail, yet the one person whose only agenda was to care for his welfare was the one person he had pushed away.

_You’re going to die if you don’t break free._

His eyes flicked between the titan clothing and his Saiyan attire. Making a decision, he got dressed and left his room.

* * *

~xox~

 

Trying to find someone on the galaxy’s largest ship when he had no means of tracking her down was a challenge, but Vegeta lucked out when he found her standing on the lower observation deck. The same place they had first laid eyes on one another and dropped a fortune’s worth of fruit onto. The cleaning crew had been by because all the mess from the fruit was gone.

For a brief moment he hesitated when he saw her in white, the memory of his dream resurfacing. But it wasn’t a dress, just part of her crew uniform. A matching crew cap hid her hair and helped shield her face from unwanted attention. But he recognized her. He didn’t think he would ever be able to forget her again.

She was looking at something on a holographic tablet. Her disguise was good, for all the universe appearing as any other regular maintenance worker. He moved on silent feet until only a few paces separated them.

“Anything interesting?”

“Holy shit!” she startled, not having heard his approach. Her surprise melted into uncertainty when she saw it was him, then changed again when she noticed what he wore. Her mouth lilted up. “Ah, I see you got my present.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying the stretch of the comforting fabric. “It’s hardly a present when it belonged to me in the first place.”

“I think the words you’re looking for are: “Thank you, Bulma. You are the most amazing ingenious resourceful woman I’ve ever met. It’s so nice of you to do this for me when I was such a colossal ass to you last night, but I hope you’ll forgive me because I was drunk.””

He raised a brow.

She sniffed haughtily and turned her attention back at her tablet. “Oh don’t stand there posing all handsome and think I’ll forgive you so easily.”

Handsome? “Aren’t you afraid I’ll make good on my promise?” He _had_ threatened to turn her in if he saw her again.

“Oh _please_.”

Were it anyone else he might have been offended by her lack of fear. But he was just relieved she was talking to him. He uncrossed his arms and breached the remaining gap, coming up to her side. On her display were a bunch of numbers and diagrams.

“Is that the _TITAN_ ’s course?”

Bulma nodded, frowning. “We’re going to be hitting Atlantikos soon and they’re headed right through the middle of it at full speed, AND the starboard sensor has been acting up for hours now. What are the crew on this ship even doing?”

“I’m sure they know. Frieza doesn’t hire amateurs.”

“Hmm. Well, I sent a maintenance alert anyways.” She looked up and searched the sky through the giant dome, squinting into the distance before pointing at a tiny dot. “There. That’s the Atlantikos Cloud. You ever been before?”

“No.”

They lapsed into silence, staring off into space for a while.

He dug out the note she had written and dropped it over her hologram, causing the tablet to dissipate. “What’s this supposed to be?”

She hitched a brow. “Really? It’s the code to the airlock. Told you it would be easy to get.”

“Tch, I _know_ that.” He had figured it out the moment he saw the symbols. It was how he’d deduced the message was from her. No one else knew of that incident. No one else would understand. It’s not that he _wanted_ to kill himself — he was far too proud to go out that way —, but she had given him _the option;_ it was the first sliver of real control over his life that he’d had in years. Somehow, Bulma understood that. “That’s not what I meant. What is this?” he pointed to the final symbol.

“…Are you serious? Vegeta, that’s a heart.”

He stared at her. Then down to the ‘heart’. Then back up to her, his eyes narrowing. “Aren’t you supposed to be an engineer?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Don’t you have to draw well?”

Bulma’s face turned bright pink. “Excuse _me_. I so too can draw well!”

“I don’t know about your _human_ anatomy, but no heart I’ve ever torn out looks anything like this.”

Her face grew pinker by the second. “First of all, that’s barbaric. Second of all, it’s _symbolic_ , you asshole.”

“Of what? How little you can draw or how little you know about hearts?”

“Oh, YOU’RE going to lecture ME about hearts, Mr Prince of All Don’t-Help-Me-I-Can-Do-Everything-By-Myself-And-Have-The-Emotional-Sensitivity-Of-A-Slug?”

They glared at each other before he cracked and smirked. She struggled to hide her own smile, shoving his arm — which only resulted in pushing herself away because he was as immoveable as an iron beam.

“Jerk,” she said again for good measure.

“So what do I owe you?”

She threw him a salty look, still pretending to be upset. “For what?”

“The code. I owe you for it, remember?”

“Well obviously.”

“Obviously,” he fondly repeated.

“You could lay off the beer. Turns out you’re a rather morose and grumpy drunk.”

“Agreed.” It was as close to an apology as he was going to give. “I was going to do that anyway. It hardly counts as a favor.”

“Hmm… Then I’ll need to think on it. I guess you can stick close by until I come up with a suitable repayment,” she said with a nudge to his arm.

His smile died away, his mood growing more serious. “Bulma… I have to go through with it.” Everything she’d said last night had been true. But it didn’t change his decision. If his sacrifice in becoming a titan could guarantee the safety and future of his people, then what choice did he have? And maybe, _maybe_ one day he could get strong enough to rise up against Frieza… He swallowed back that pipe dream and looked Bulma square in the eyes. “When we dock on my planet, we won’t be able to see each other again.”

Her expression turned sad, but she nodded. “Yeah… I kinda figured.”

“But, until then…” he trailed off and looked down, the words sticking in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to ask this, or if she would even be receptive.

Luckily she seemed to catch on. Her hands reached up and cupped his face, thumbing his titan tattoos like she had done last night during their ‘dance’. It made him feel less ashamed to have them. “You’re not a titan yet,” she said, understanding.

He swallowed thickly and nodded in relief. If he only had a few weeks of freedom left before his final rite, he wanted to enjoy them. He wanted to be with her.

He pulled off her cap and let it drop to the floor, cupping her face back and bringing their brows together. His phantom tail curled about her waist.

Her breath shuddered out. “You make me feel so light-headed when you get close like this,” she confessed in a soft whisper. “I feel like I’m floating.”

His lips curled up, glad he wasn’t the only one. “Would you like to?”

“Like to what?”

He leaned back, breaking their embrace. “Turn around.”

She gave him a curious look. He smirked and made a little ‘turn around’ gesture with his finger. She was suspicious but obeyed, and he tore off his gloves with his teeth, discarding them on the floor with her hat. Stepping up behind her, he wrapped his bare hands over her delicate waist, a couple fingers slipping under her short white t-shirt. She tensed.

“Trust me,” he whispered, ghosting his breath on her neck.

She nodded and relaxed. With only the smallest shift of energy they were airborne. Her breath caught with an audible cry as he floated them up up up to the top of the dome until they were hanging among the stars.

Her fingers latched onto his. “Oh my god, YOU CAN FLY?!”

He chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder. “There are many things I can do that a puny thing like you cannot.”

“Try not to ruin the moment, Vegeta.”

“Brave of you to threaten the man who could drop you like a heart right now.”

“Oh _please_.” It was an empty threat and they both knew it.

He pressed his smile to her skin, breathing her in and relishing the ability to hold her so close and hear her excited sounds as she pointed out galaxies in the black sky. It was charming to see the universe through her eyes. Her left hand brushed over his tattooed fingers with feather-light touches.

“This is amazing!” she gushed, leaning back, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

The moment she did, he saw the change in her eyes, the wonder turning to something softer and more intimate. His heart began to pound excitedly in his chest. He tightened his grip on her tummy, delighting when her breath hitched and her hand clutched him harder. Her gaze fluttered to his mouth then back up into his eyes, her nose nudging coyly to his.

Softly, achingly, he dragged his lips over hers. Her right hand held the back of his head close, and he kissed her again and again and again until he no longer knew if he was flying or falling.

 

* * *

~xoXox~

 

 **AN:** Phew! I had a lot of overtime this week so I couldn’t get this chapter out as quickly as I would have liked, ack, I’m so behind on the prompts now!>_<

Thanks to all those who have commented and supported this fic, you guys are a treasure <3 Special shoutout to Rutbisbe for drawing me the most beautiful heart-wrenching Vegeta for chapter 2. ;_; Check it out if you haven’t yet:

<http://rutbisbe.tumblr.com/post/182827656306/fanart-for-titan-ladyvegeets-fanfiction-for>

 


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